


There Dragons Will Be

by allonsy_gabriel



Series: Another 51 [23]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Aziraphale Is Trying (Good Omens), Butchering History, Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Dragons, Fairy Tale Elements, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Knight Aziraphale (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), They're both a mess, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-15 21:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21025328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsy_gabriel/pseuds/allonsy_gabriel
Summary: When he’d first gotten the assignment, Aziraphale had been happy to simply have an excuse to get out of the rain.Britain was fine, really—not much in terms of food or literature, granted, but he supposed those things would come with time—but it was terribly damp, and it did dreadful things to Aziraphale’s hair.So when Gabriel had asked him to sort out the mess in Cappadocia, Aziraphale was more than happy to comply.The thing was nobody had actually told him what the mess in question was.And, as far as Aziraphale was aware, dragons weren’t actually real.





	There Dragons Will Be

**Author's Note:**

> this is Garbage but i couldn't get it out of my head so here it fUcking is i guess

When he’d first gotten the assignment, Aziraphale had been happy to simply have an excuse to get out of the rain.

Britain was fine, really—not much in terms of food or literature, granted, but he supposed those things would come with time—but it  _ was _ terribly damp, and it did dreadful things to Aziraphale’s hair.

So when Gabriel had asked him to  _ sort out the mess _ in Cappadocia, Aziraphale was more than happy to comply.

The thing was nobody had actually  _ told  _ him what the  _ mess _ in question was.

And, as far as Aziraphale was aware, dragons weren’t _actually_ real.

Yet, there he was, sitting in a poorly-lit hut in Turkey, eating some rather wonderful  _ sulu kofte _ and hearing tales of a terrible reptile that menaced the entire country.

“I’m sorry,” the angel said to the elderly gentleman whose house he was staying in. “Did you say the beast  _ talks _ ?”

“Aye, just as plain as me and you,” the man replied. “Every day he demands tribute, a lovely young maiden, who he tears to shreds, devours, and then uses the blood to paint his walls.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale murmured. “Lovely.”

“And you say you’re here to kill the devil?”

“So it would seem.”

The man laughed to himself. “You don’t quite seem the fighting sort, he said, looking Aziraphale over.

Aziraphale huffed. “I assure you, I do know my way around a sword.”

“Ah, I’m sure you do,” the old man said, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes before returning to his soup.

**

The processional in front of him was a rather depressing sight, Aziraphale had to admit. They were all dressed in dark red robes, sides for the young lady who stood in front wearing black and white and gold.

“Er, excuse me!” Aziraphale called after them, hurrying his horse along (what he’d give to never have to ride another  _ dratted _ horse in his entire existence—he prayed, every day, for all the lost souls and broken hearts and poorly-handled manuscripts and that he’d  _ never have to ride a horse again _ ). “I, well, I was wondering—you wouldn’t happen to be headed to the dragon’s lair, would you?”

The maiden in black and white and gold blinked at him. “We are,” she said evenly. “I am to fulfill my duty to my people, to offer myself up as a sacrifice so that they may not suffer—”

“Oh, lovely,” Aziraphale interrupted. “Well then, you needn’t go any further. I’ve, ah, come to slay the dreadful creature, so. No sacrifices will be necessary today, I’m afraid, although I do rather admire your, well,  _ gung-ho _ spirit.”

The young woman stared at him for another moment. “And who are you, fair warrior,” she asked, “that you come now to offer us our salvation?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Ah,” he said, desperately trying to come up with a name, any name, so long as it wasn’t  _ Aziraphale _ (he’d found that his name was…  _ memorable _ in a way that was not particularly useful to an immortal, unaging, unchanging being; people tended to notice when the fellow with the unusual name simply  _ didn’t die _ for 200 years—it’d caused some problems back when he’d been in Athens, and Aziraphale wasn’t keen on a repeat experience). “ _ My  _ name is, uh. George.”

Yes, that would do it. George was a common enough name. Probably, everyone here had met several Georges, and no one would remember him at all.

(This would prove a false assumption—no one there had ever met  _ anyone _ named George, and besides, Aziraphale was memorable enough on his own to make an impression, funny name or not.)

“George,” the woman said slowly.

“Sir George,” Aziraphale confirmed. “Of London. England. Yes.”

The maiden and her attendants said nothing for a moment, simply staring at the angel.

“The dragon lives in that cave,” the woman finally stated, pointing to a cavern in the distance. “Go if you will, but know that none who have entered have ever left.”

“That certainly sounds foreboding,” Aziraphale muttered to himself, but he smiled at the ladies and rode forward, praying he wouldn’t chafe too terribly from the saddle.

The cave was large and dark and cool, but it was hardly empty. Relics and detritus were scattered about, golden goblets and silk cushions and elaborate, empty jugs. The whole place smelled of wine and cinnamon and woodsmoke and not, as Aziraphale had expected, decaying human flesh.

“Hello?” he called out into the dark, holding his sword aloft. For a moment, he wished it would burst into flames, if only to provide a source of light. “I’ve come to, erm, slay a terrible beast, and I’d rather appreciate it if you made yourself known so I can, well. Get on with the slaying, I suppose.”

His words echoed around the great cavern, and for a moment, and then a familiar voice called out from the dark, saying, “Aziraphale? Is that you, angel?”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, squinting as he looked around for his… adversary. “Crowley, are you alright? Have you been—has the ghastly thing captured you?”

“Oi!” Crowley shouted. “Who’re you calling ghasssstly?”

The words were a bit more sibilant than usual.

“What?” Aziraphale asked. “Crowley, my dear, I’m afraid I’m a bit confuse—oh.”

The cave lit up all at once, torches catching all along the walls.

And there, in the middle of it all, lay a massive, winged serpent with bright yellow eyes.

“Good Lord,” Aziraphale muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Jusssst gimme a sssssecond, angel,” Crowley said, and then shifted unceremoniously back into his human form, his red hair pulled up into a turban, draped in black silk. “There we are,” he said after twisting his back with a worrisome  _ crack _ . “Now. Why are you here? I thought you were supposed to be traipsing around Europe,  _ fomenting peace _ .”

“Because  _ apparently _ ,” Aziraphale snapped, “a malicious,  _ human-eating dragon _ has been terrorizing this area to such a degree that Heaven sent me to—to—”

“Thwart it?”

“Precisely!”

Crowley sighed. “I’m not—before you get too upset, I’m not  _ eating _ anyone, alright?”

“Oh, so you’re just killing them, that’s fine then—”

“I’m not killing anyone!” Crowley insisted. “I’m just—look, angel, I’m giving them an out, okay?”

“An out?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said with a shrug. “Y’know. Tempting them to abandon their husbands, go off, live their own lives. Not get—not get trapped with some old tosser who gave their dad an extra goat. They come, they say  _ oh please don’t eat me, evil serpent _ , and I  _ don’t _ , and then I offer them an out. Passage to the other side of the mountain. Most of them make it to the city by the next day. No one’s turned it down so far.”

“But they said—”

“What, that I’m painting the walls in blood, using entrails as a nifty piece of jewelry?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale nodded, and the demon scoffed. “Had to keep up appearances, angel. Spread some nasty rumors. One kid was willing to say he saw the dragon snap his brother in half for half a jug of old wine.”

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley warily.

“No one’s dead, alright? Promise,” the demon said. “I just—I got sick of seeing them all so miserable all the time. Plus, this way, I’m also inspiring fear and anger and general discontent. It’s a win-win.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley another moment.

Just when he thought he had the demon all figured out, when he thought there was no way Crowley could surprise him, he’d go off and do something like this.

He’d go off and do something  _ kind _ .

“Well either way,” the angel said, “you have to stop. You’ve attracted a great deal of attention, Crowley. Honestly, it’s a miracle no one’s tried to come and stop you before this.”

The demon sighed. “Suppose you’ve got a point,” he admitted finally. “Don’t think every knight who comes through will be willing to have a nice chat.”

“I do believe you’re right,” Aziraphale agreed. “And besides, I’d rather not have to  _ actually _ slay you.”

“Fair,” Crowley stated. “Alright, then. Suppose we just walk out? Tell them you’ve freed me from the great fiend’s nefarious wiles?”

“Suppose so,” Aziraphale said.

And so they did.

(A few hundred years later, an angel would be surprised to hear of the canonization of a man from Cappadocia who’d claimed to have killed a dragon, and a demon would proceed to tease him about it incessantly for the next thousand years.

And they all lived happily ever after.

The end.)

**Author's Note:**

> i wanna hear what you think! please lemme know!


End file.
